Kygarius
Dim colored lights from several half-broken ads flickered in the hazy smoke filling the crowded, noisy bar. The music coming from the ancient jukebox alternated between country western and heavy metal, a group of bikers gathered around the joint’s one lonely pool table, and conversations took on the edge of violence in nearly every corner.
One group with the look of a street gang was louder than the rest, slamming down shots and beers like their very life depended on it. Anyone unfortunate enough to walk by the table was harassed and insulted, and even the most hardened patron swallowed any response before it could get them into more trouble with the group.
Sometime past midnight, the door opened to the dark, rainy alley, and the figure that walked through could only be described as gargantuan. He ducked to avoid hitting his head entering, hardly paying any heed to the patrons who turned their heads at his entrance. If it wasn’t his size, everyone would have taken note of the bright green leather jacket with frilled sleeves and the long tail. Together, they made a memorable sight.
He approached the bar and sat precariously on an empty stool at the corner, motioning with his hand for a beer to the bartender, who very quickly placed the can in front of the behemoth and hurried to deal with other customers.
It was only a matter of time, as he sat quietly, occasionally sipping at the beer, before trouble would start. The thugs were behind him before anyone noticed they’d left their table, and the background conversations quieted considerably when the leader stepped up and grabbed the giant by his broad shoulder.
“Yo, look at this, my boy’s been shopping at the dumpster behind Salvation Army,” he said, pushing the closest member of his gang with his free hand. “We never seen you here before. We’d remember something this ugly!”
The giant looked back for a moment, dark eyes taking in the group before turning back to his drink. The leader, a vein bulging on his clean-shaven head, leaned in, pushing the arm holding the beer, spilling it on the table.
“Hey, this is our bar, you got that? You answer when we’re talking to you..” he said, moving to grab the arm he’d pushed.
With blinding speed, the brute’s elbow flew back, catching the leader of the gang between the eyes, dropping him to the floor and out of the fight before it had even begun. With a roar, he jumped up, grabbing the barstool and swinging wide, catching two more of the goons before they could react.
As they fell, another jumped on his back, trying to choke him out. His roar became a growl as he dropped the stool and reached back, grabbing his assailant in both hands by the head, lifting the man over his head and tossing him into his companions to fall in a tangle of flailing arms and legs.
Before anyone knew it, the fight was over, with the whole gang taken out in less than a minute, several of them unconscious on the bar floor. The victor stood over the scene, considering the prone bodies and broken barstool, barely out of breath from the exertion.
He hardly started, then, when a hand dropped on his arm. Turning, he looked up and down at a tall individual in a dark hoodie that did little to hide the man’s wide shoulders. The hooded figure leaned in, nodding to the thugs on the floor.
“Let’s get out of here, yeah, before anyone takes too much interest in your work. You and me, we’ve got to talk. I’ve got a job for you I think you’d be perfect for…”
Looking once more at his attackers, the man in the green frilled jacket grunted and followed his new friend out into the cold, dark night.
